Burnt Memories
by Misato Cuad Solte
Summary: Gary never admitted anything to Ash, and the emotions he feels are bordering on obsession. Palletshipping, Gary X Ash. First ever fanfic warning


**Pokemon**: Burnt Memories  
**Rating**: G  
**FF.net synopsis**: Gary never admitted anything to Ash, and the emotions he feels are bordering on obsession.  
**Notes**: The first true fanfic I ever wrote. And it was **Shounen-ai**, too ^_^ I wrote this after staring at a bonfire on my own for a few hours... 

- 

I love it outdoors. It reminds me of the days travelling the Pokemon gyms, although I rarely stayed outdoors at night. No, I was too proud for that. The night gives me somewhere to hide. I'm never far from the open in Pallet town, living with your grandfather has its advantages. There's a whole world in the back yard, just waiting to be explored. Granted, its for the Pokemon, but nobody knows I'm here, alone at night. Every night. 

I make my way through the fields and trees, knowing the way even in the darkness. Grandpa thinks I'm asleep, but nowadays its hard to even consider sleep, for me anyway. I come to a small clearing. Its the same as it always is, a small pile of rocks surrounded by smooth, packed down soil. Over the months I've stopped covering my tracks, partly because of my state of mind and partly because I'm sure no one will find it here. Not that it would matter to them, concerns of mine aren't those commonly shared by Pokemon. 

I carefully move the stones away, revealing a small mound of dust, and black remains of charcoaled wood. I slowly arrange my small handful of sticks on the remains of the burnt out fire, always the same, four around the sides and one broken into pieces in the centre. I don't even know why I arrange them like that, from what I know there's no meaning to it. But its how I've always done it. I scatter a few handfuls of leaves and twigs onto the fire, then take a match from my pocket. Sometimes I can't use a match, if they kept disappearing then someone would notice, and I can't buy them myself. I've walked down here with a candle before, and I once got hold of a lighter from a friend, but that couldn't last forever. Would I be doing this forever? 

I strike the match and throw it into the small mound of kindling, which ignites almost immediately as the flame swallows the light wood up into its burning heart. That's why I love the flames, they take what they want as soon as they can have it. That's what he is, the flame, full of ambition, he won't back down from anything, he'll keep going until he's got what he wants. I jab at the crumbling wood, sending a shower of golden ash into the air around me, glowing for precious seconds then falling into a grey nothingness on the ground. Its ironic, I'm the one who is the ash, shining for moments before failing miserably, transforming my exterior from the proud and beautiful, to the bitter unattractiveness of grey dust, whilst inside I still burn, ready to burst into a golden flame, yet not achieving it, waiting for that final encouragement. That was him, he was that signal I needed to give me the power to tell him, not to hide behind sourness and jealously. 

I glance back down at my fire, the flame has died, leaving the glowing remains, like gold dust, like the sparkle of ambition in his eyes. 

A cool breeze picks up the ash from the smoking remains, blowing into my eyes. I try and blink them away, my eyes stinging. That's me, taking the hard way. I could just get up away from the smoke, but instead I stay there, and make it worse. I feel tears running down my face, I can't tell if I'm crying or the smoke, and I don't care. 

The flame has gone, I love that flame. I remember at the pokemon league, I remember the heat of the torch in the cool nights as I stood there, watching. He didn't know I was there, but I could see him. He went and stood there every night, the flame dancing in his eyes, the ambition never leaving them for a second. 

And here I am now, I can't even remember how long I've been sitting out here these nights, remembering. Remembering how I never said goodbye to him, never said I was sorry. And I never told him how I felt. 

I open my eyes, tears streaming down my face, I find myself walking back to the house, through the dark. Its like this every night. I walk back, my feet knowing the way so well I might as well have my eyes closed. And I do, knowing tomorrow I will come back to my ash. 

And wishing he would come back to me. 

~fin~ 


End file.
